by Susanna Lang
— who would believe them winged
— in memoriam Lucille Clifton
Today your crows are nearly
Only one bird calls from the other side
of the river,
naming the bareness of the branches,
their upstretched grace.
You taught us to listen to crows
taught us to do the work that Adam did
in the garden.
When we did not find the right names
despite your lessons
you leaned across the table, saying
You know I love you, don’t you?
We will be more precise in our naming.
It is all we can do
when you are no longer here in the winter garden,
showing us how to do the work.